


First Forever

by Lynds



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Sweetheart, Falling In Love, Genderfluid Raven, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Self-Esteem Issues, Smitten Erik, Telepathy, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19291909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Charles holds himself apart from everyone, hiding deep-seated fears behind his friendly, perky exterior. Everyone loves Charles, but nobody really knows him.Until Erik, that is. Charles is falling so hard, so fast, terrified of what will happen to him when, inevitably, Erik gets tired of him.The disappearance of his powers just serves to make it more clear; Charles doesn't get to keep what he loves.





	1. Prologue: First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoVeryAverageMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoVeryAverageMe/gifts).



> SoVeryAverageMe very kindly bid on me to write Cherik with trust issues and emotional hurt/comfort for Fandom Trumps Hate 2019 and I'm SO EXCITED to post... I hope you enjoy it! I'm going to be posting a chapter every 3-4 days, it's all complete, I just tend to find more last-minute errors this way!
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to [Wolfloner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfloner/pseuds/Wolfloner) and [FlightInFlame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame) for beta-ing! <3

**Interview with Professor Charles Xavier**

_By Erik Lehnsherr_

“The X-gene itself is a misnomer,” says Prof. Charles Xavier, discoverer of the X-gene.

The youthful professor sits back and crosses his legs, a self-deprecating smile creeping across his face. “I didn’t name it. Or - well, I did, but I named it the Late Stage Hox-Like Operon. Catchy, I know. But it was the media that dubbed it the X-gene.” He looks at me with a mildly reproachful gaze and I find myself ducking my head like a student asking for an extension.

Xavier smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking - which, of course, he does. Xavier is not only Oxford’s youngest PhD, Cornell’s youngest professor of genetics, and discoverer of the initial cause of what some would consider superpowers, but also an omega level telepath.

“Don’t forget five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award,” Xavier quotes dryly, startling a laugh out of me. But as well-versed as he is on the Harry Potter universe, Xavier is no Gilderoy Lockhart.

It’s when I ask him to explain the X-gene (excuse me, the Late Stage Hox-Like Operon), that Xavier’s eyes light up and he sits right forward, elbows on knees. “A single gene can’t possibly be responsible for the vast diversity of phenotypes we see in so-called mutants today. Of course, every feature that makes humanity different to single-celled organisms can be traced back to a chance mutation that helped the organism to survive and reproduce - or at least didn’t hinder it. But the LSH operon is different.”

He launches into his lecture on advanced genetics, explaining complex concepts in simple enough terms that even a journalist can understand, while somehow never quite steering into the realms of too patronising. It’s clear this is a talk he’s given many times before, and yet his enthusiasm for it is infectious, the famous baby blue eyes sparkling.

“There’s still so much we don’t know about the mechanisms of the LSH operon activation, but what we do know is that it’s epigenetic and heritable. In this context, that means it’s triggered in young people with no family history of ‘mutations’,” here he forms air quotes to show his reluctant acceptance of the public’s limited use for such a broad term. “And it’s always triggered under extreme stress. Once triggered, it’s likely that the LSH operon will be passed down to their future children already active.

“The features that express themselves then depend partly on the stressors a person is experiencing. A young person trying to escape a burning building, for example, may develop teleportation, invulnerability, ice powers or a body that can withstand and even produce fire itself. Which one of these exactly depends on the downstream genes and operons the LSH transcription products reach first.”

He catches sight of the time and almost seems embarrassed. “There’s much work still to be done. But that’s what’s so wonderful about it.”

I ask him how he developed his telepathy, what his ‘specific stressors’ were to cause such a powerful mutation in one so young (Xavier was registered soon after his seventh birthday). The question seems to cause him to sit back, though it doesn’t wipe the smile off his face. “You’re asking about the most stressful time in a child’s life - as a mutant yourself you should know how intrusive that question is.”

Just before our time runs out, I try to reclaim the strands of the conversation - as if control had ever been in my hands. What would he say, I wonder, to all those who claim that mutants have an unfair advantage?

The fire is back behind his eyes almost immediately but the ever present smile is polite, almost misleadingly so. “Privilege comes in many forms,” he says. “As a cis white man born into a wealthy family, I have way more than most. But I notice there’s no sudden public outcry about any of those old inequalities.” He leans forward once more. “The LSH operon is, as far as we can tell, entirely random. It is as likely to activate in a rich white man in America as it is in a Syrian refugee trying to get her family to safety, a wealthy woman from Dubai or a middle class transgender man in Nigeria. Like much of biology it doesn’t discriminate, it equalises. Perhaps the rest of society should follow its lead.”


	2. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we realise that Charles is not nearly as smooth and confident as Erik thought he was when they first met. In fact both of them are utter dorks. Charles, though, is a dork who needs a lot of hugs.

“Professor Xavier!”

Charles turned to see the absolutely gorgeous reporter speed-walking towards him, his thoughts full of _prolong-connect-blue-eyes_. Charles bit back an eager smile, trying to stick to friendly, modest, professional.

“I hope I didn’t go too far in there,” said Lehnsherr. “If you like, you can ask me all the invasive questions you like, take your revenge.” And then, quite clearly, almost deliberately, Charles heard _perhaps-over-dinner?_

His first instinct was to blush. Because apparently his first instincts became an inexperienced teenager. He glanced down, biting his lip. “I… you really don’t need to apologise, Mr Lehnsherr-”

“Erik, please.”

Charles lifted his gaze to meet those sea-glass eyes. “Erik. You needn’t apologise at all, I know it’s part of your job.”

He nodded and shrugged. “Yes, it is part of my job. And another part is _not_ telling you how much I argued for the chance to interview you.”

Charles’ eyes went wide and he stared up at Erik’s sheepish face, _Emma’s-going-to-kill-me_ and _so-cute_ and _pizza-maybe_ humming at the surface of Erik’s thoughts. 

The impulse to look deeper, seek out a reason why a _no_ would be safer, was almost overwhelming. Charles didn’t date. He slept with people, or he had friends he called dear and then held at arm’s length. But the purring voice in his ears saying _wonder-if-he-likes-Italian_ was tempting all the way through to his heart.

“Yes,” Charles said, before he could stop himself.

Erik blinked. “Yes… what?”

“Yes please?” Charles said automatically before Erik’s confusion and _didn’t-ask-a-question_ shot through. “Oh God! Oh my God, you didn’t ask that out loud, did you?”

Erik was flame red when Charles peeked through his fingers. “Holy shit, what question did you hear?” Erik asked, tapping his temple.

“Whether I like Italian,” Charles moaned, mortified. “I am so, so sorry, my friend, I usually have much better control over my telepathy.” Oh God, he of all people should know that a person’s thoughts didn’t always match their actions. There was a reason thoughts were usually private.

But Erik was laughing, his teeth bared in a shark-like grin. “Oh, thank God it was an innocent thought - I mean! Uh… it’s not like I go around thinking indecent thoughts. About you. Or in general. I’m not making this better, am I?” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and took a deep breath. “So. Italian then?”

Charles smiled, wide and relieved, and something else he couldn’t quite identify yet.

***

“I have to admit,” said Erik as they found a seat in the campus cafe. “I don’t usually work on the science stories. I’m the political correspondent.”

Charles smiled and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know whether to be honoured or concerned,” he teased.

Erik leaned forward in his chair and his mind lit up like a nuclear chain reaction. “But the discovery of the X-gene - sorry, the LSH operon - _is_ a political thing in the same way that climate change is. Aren’t you concerned that they’ll use your research to implement some sort of screening for mutants? Expose children to particular stressors in order to create… I don’t know, a super soldier?”

Charles blinked. “Am I on the record here?”

“No,” Erik snorted, sitting back. “This is too paranoid for Emma to agree to publish, even from me.”

Charles bit his lip. “Well, I appreciate that, culturally and historically, you would be more wary--”

“What do you mean?” asked Erik, his attention suddenly razor sharp, and instantly Charles was on high alert. Every mind around him became that little more open to him, every one a potential threat, and every danger to him teased out, judged for its immediacy and discarded. Charles felt his mouth dry and his heart beat faster as he heard Erik’s own defences rise, the fears that made him dangerous. 

“I mean,” said Charles carefully, “that as a Jewish man who’s also a mutant, you have much more reason to be on high alert for any signs of government registration or regulation.”

“I didn’t tell you I was Jewish,” said Erik.

“Forgive me, my friend, but it’s rather at the forefront of your mind for this conversation.”

Erik laughed, and the immense psionic pressure over the back of Charles’ neck lessened. He felt sweat trickle down his back and hated himself for it. What did it matter if someone was annoyed with him? Erik couldn’t hurt him. Nobody was going to hurt him anymore. But when Erik turned the full force of his amusement and approval on Charles, he found himself breathless and delighted with relief anyway.

“How am I supposed to fluster you with a request for a date if you’re always in my head, Charles?” asked Erik, his voice a purr. 

Charles blushed and looked down at his coffee. “I’m sorry. I do try to stay out.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Charles stayed away from people’s minds as much as he could, most of the time. But he needed to read everyone to a certain extent, and perhaps that extent was more than some would consider acceptable. But he _needed_ it. 

After all, how else was he to know when someone started hating him?

***

For some reason Charles couldn’t fathom, Erik didn’t start to hate him. He took him on dates, he introduced him to the few important people in his life (his boss, Emma, his PA, Azazel). He tolerated Charles’ friends and didn’t tell them or Charles what he really thought of them, even Alex, who Charles could hear set Erik’s teeth on edge. Charles heard him talk politely to all of them, and later apologise to Charles for being a grouch.

He waited for Erik to tell him he couldn’t see them anymore, to try and cut him off from people the way other boyfriends had. He waited, even searched, for the warning signs, and found only fondness.

Weeks turned into months, dates turned into whole weekends together, lying in the sun that poured through the tall windows in Charles’ apartment. Charles lay with his head pillowed on Erik’s bony shoulder, watching him hover scraps of metal in the air, sculpting them into curves and fantastical shapes as they talked. Charles felt the warmth soak into his soul, illuminating a little dusty corner he had never realised he yearned for, and wondering how long he’d get to keep this. What it would do to him to lose it.

“You look sad, _liebchen_ ,” Erik said softly.

Charles smiled his most charming smile. “Just tired, darling,” he said. “I think I can blame you for that.”

He leaned up to kiss Erik’s jaw, but Erik continued to frown at him, a steady hum of _melancholy-want-to-help-just-tell-me-love_ in his thoughts. Charles blinked rapidly, his throat thick with emotion, a longing to tell him everything in his heart, beg Erik to stay and love him as long as Erik could stand it.

The fear stole the words from his lips, and he touched his fingertips to Erik’s jaw, leaning forward to give him as much of his love as he dared, without scaring him off with how clingy he was.

But Erik took all of it and gave it back, all his desperate love and devotion and search for that hidden place in each other’s heart, and Charles clung to him, hardly able to breathe with the impossibility of it all.

He found the piece of metal Erik had been moulding later, tumbled off the bed and against the wall. It had been a piece of scrap, picked up off the road, but Erik had turned it into a delicate filigree pyramid within a cube within a sphere, impossible and beautiful. Charles smiled as he ran his fingers over the smooth lacy edges.

The way Erik seemed to feel about Charles couldn’t be real. It was impossible, but Charles would take it and pretend for as long as he possibly could.


	3. Erik's Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles comes over to Erik's apartment one day to find him inconsolable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings for grief, non-graphic memories of violence and murder (Shaw is his own warning...), and non-graphic allusions to past child abuse

Charles heard Erik’s furious thoughts before he let himself into Erik’s apartment, and as soon as he heard the almost incoherent rage, he stopped, his keys halfway to the lock. He stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his panic high in his throat, and considered running. Not even permanently, just running, hiding on a park bench until Erik’s fury subsided.

“You’re an adult,” Charles told himself sternly, his voice only shaking a little. “You’re the most powerful telepath in a generation, you could hold Erik still with a single thought, and you will, no matter how much you love him. No-one is ever going to treat you like _them_ ever again. No-one has been able to hurt you for years.”

Besides, he thought, running and hiding from Kurt had only ever served to focus his fury on a more inventive punishment.

Charles pushed the door open and the full force of Erik’s grief and fury and pain hit him like a physical thing. Charles’ power slipped into Erik’s mind and memories ruthlessly, secretively, peering into his private thoughts for his own safety. Flashes of _blood-family-Shaw-revenge_ almost brought Charles to his knees, and he wanted to gather Erik up in his arms and hold him, even as all his defensive instincts knew to run, run far away from an angry person. Because it could always, somehow, be made Charles’ fault.

Erik slapped the phone down on the table and it crumpled under the force of his rage, glass shattering as the metal came together into a ball, the rubble vibrating on the table. Erik turned away and leaned on the kitchen counter, his back a row of tension.

“Erik,” said Charles softly, walking nearer, his mind a whirl of panic alongside Erik’s incoherent grief and fury. But under Charles’ fear was the need to see Erik safe and loved. “Erik, love--”

Erik spun around to him, breathing hard, and Charles tensed, waiting for the onslaught. But Erik was in his arms, long body crumpling like the phone, and every inch of him was _grief._

“Oh, my love,” Charles whispered, clutching him, stroking his hair as memories surrounded him. Not just blood and fear and loss, but kind faces and love and Shabbat dinner. Erik wept and clutched at Charles tightly with his arms and a strand of thought that begged for _home._

“I’m so sorry, my darling,” Charles whispered, his throat tight with tears. “I’m so sorry I can’t take you home.”

He tugged Erik to the bedroom and somehow manoeuvred him under the comforter. Erik pressed his face into Charles’ shoulder, his body wracked with sobs, and Charles clung to him and wished he knew how to comfort someone.

He thought back, following a trail of warmth in his own memories, to when he was fifteen and caught unaware by a backhand from Kurt. Raven had found him, scared and sniffling, laid his head on her lap and shifted into Ella Fitzgerald’s copy, singing as she stroked his hair. 

_“Summertime, and the living is easy.”_

Charles closed his eyes, tears sliding out the corners to soak his hair at his temples, and pulled the memory forward and out, trying to blanket Erik with it. 

_“Fish are jumping and the cotton is high.”_

Erik pressed closer, and Charles saw his best memories rising, drawn by Charles’. A dark haired, wide-eyed woman with a smile that made them both ache, a stoic, soft-spoken man whose arms defined security.

_“Your daddy is rich, and your momma’s good lookin’, so hush little baby, don’t you cry.”_

***

“It was a home invasion,” said Erik, his voice rough and thick. “When I was fifteen. This bastard, Shaw… he’d done it before, it wasn’t a robbery to him.” Erik closed his eyes, but Charles stared up at the ceiling, Shaw’s cruelty and sadism painted red across his mind.

“It’s how my powers manifested,” Erik said. “Just… just too late for my parents. I nearly killed Shaw, but the police…” he laughed, bitter. “Well, they were too late to save anything that mattered.”

Charles kissed him on the top of the head, pressed him close. Erik took a deep breath. “He’s dead now,” he said. “They called me… he died in prison. I’ll never…” He shuddered, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll never get to kill him myself.”

Charles held him through the storm and horror, into the night, until he fell asleep, his dreams dark. Charles stayed awake and tried to make a landscape for him, a field in the sunshine, drawing Erik out of his own horror, into a manufactured attempt at peace. 

Erik lay down next to him in the grass. “Is this a dream?”

“Of a sort,” Charles said, taking his hand. “It’s a place I’ve made for you in my head so you don’t have to be in yours right now.”

Erik smiled, leaned over and kissed him. “That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. Quite literally,” he teased.

Charles rolled his eyes and kissed him back, then pulled away, biting his lip. “I went into your head earlier. I’m sorry. When I first came home. I just… I thought you should know.”

Erik tilted his head. “Why are you sorry? You’re a telepath, that’s what you do.”

“I know you want me to stay out, though--”

“What? When did I say that?” Erik laughed.

“When we first met - I must admit, I was very clumsy with you, trying to show off at first, and then reading that you wanted to take me out for Italian.”

Erik chuckled and lay back, closing his eyes in the sunshine. “I remember that. I honestly don’t remember telling you to stay out of my head, though. I mean, I don’t want you to read every little thought and memory I’ve ever had, or we’ll never need to talk. And I like talking to you.” He turned his head to press a kiss to Charles’ hair and they lay in silence, Erik drifting off to sleep while Charles tried to restructure all his internal rules and boundaries.

He can’t have meant that, Charles thought at last. Or he wouldn’t, if he knew just how much Charles always pried into his mind - into everyone’s. But all of a sudden, Charles _wanted_ it - wanted to be trusted and welcomed into Erik’s mind, but to trust him enough that he never had to look.


	4. Argument

Erik followed him into the kitchen of Charles’ apartment after dinner one night, still arguing. “But that’s just the point, Charles, you seem to think that you’d be able to debate the topic with people like this, when they have no interest in your morals. You can’t use intelligent debate tactics on bigots, they’re too stupid.”

Charles was distracted by Erik’s power twisting around them, pulling the dishwasher open, lining the cutlery up in the basket even as he waved the plates in his hands around.

Charles forced himself to refocus. “You can’t assume everyone with distasteful views is also an idiot--”

“Oh, please, Charles, just look at the Fox News viewership--”

“No, you can’t, Erik. If you start to underestimate people, you’ll be in a whole world of trouble. We have to assume everyone we come across is intelligent and treat them as such, because dismissing people who are already afraid will only serve to make them angry and isolated.”

“Maybe a taste of the marginalisation will make them empathise more with--” Erik cut himself off and snorted. “What am I saying? Of course they won’t! They’ve grown up so used to institutionalised privilege that any levelling of the playing field is perceived as a direct attack on them.”

“And that’s what I’m saying; if we extend the hand of peace to groups like this, bring people together, encourage communication, we can stop this before it starts. Education is the key--”

“But what you’re suggesting is opening up your research to the very people who would most like to use it to do us harm. The LSH sequence absolutely has to remain a secret, if it falls into the wrong hands, insurance companies insisting on screening for it along with the breast cancer precursors is the least of our worries. Before you know it people will be screening for mutants at birth, separating them from their families, who knows what else.”

Charles rolled his eyes and dumped another plate into the dishwasher. “Erik, you’re being ridiculous, that’s the plot of a dystopian comic book, not real life.”

Erik slapped his hand down hard on the counter and glared at Charles. “Apartheid South Africa. Rwandan Hutu and Tutsi. The Romani in Europe. American racial segregation. Nazi Germany.”

Charles blinked up at him, holding his gaze, hearing the grief and anger and fear swirling around Erik’s mind, the timeline of human history scrolling down in a list of dystopia, and Charles’ blood turned to ice.

“You seem to think,” Erik continued, his jaw clenching. “That you’ll be able to seek out the intentions of every person who comes near your research, but not even you are that powerful. How can you possibly read the minds of everyone who searches for your gene sequences? What is it, Charles, that lets you think you can keep away the bigots by blind hope alone?”

Charles grit his teeth and lowered his head, glaring back at Erik just as hard. “I’m not naive, Erik. You know I’ve seen what some of them think.”

“Arrogance, then,” Erik snapped back.

“You’re one to talk.”

Charles turned away, his blood now boiling. Erik finished putting the dishes into the dishwasher, and went home, and left Charles to sit up late, staring out over the New York skyline.

He was thinking about Erik’s points, yes. But as his anger subsided, he started marvelling at the fact that he’d just argued very passionately with someone he cared about, and he hadn’t been afraid even when Erik slapped his hand on the table. Erik had been furious… but Charles had felt free to make his point.

He picked his phone up and dialed Erik’s number. Usually he hated talking on the phone, not being able to hear someone’s thoughts, work out their responses to his words. But this time… “Erik?” he said.

“Charles, it’s late,” Erik said, his voice soft, tired.

“You’re right about there being bigots. But I’m not naive, Erik,” Charles said firmly. “And…” He picked at a loose thread. “And I’m not arrogant, either.” He hated the way his voice came out whiny.

“No. I know you’re not. Erik laughed softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you arrogant. Just idealistic.”

Charles let his lip curl up into a half-smile, then took a deep breath. “I don’t want to patent a gene,” he said on a harsh outbreath. “I don’t want to be _that scientist_ who thinks they can put a trademark on life… but… maybe I can do something. I’ll talk to Hank tomorrow, we’ll see what we can work out with the lawyers. Maybe we can protect the information somehow. Make the information free, but only on request.” He smiled. “Maybe I really _can_ seek out the intentions of everyone who comes near my research.”

Erik laughed on the other end of the line, the sound breathless, like it had been shocked out of him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Charles said, and the smile wouldn’t leave his face. He took another long breath and scrunched his face up. “Also… if that offer’s still on the table, about our… accomodations--”

“About you moving in with me?”

His heart thundered. “If-- I mean, if you--”

“Yes,” laughed Erik. “Bloody hell, Charles, yes. Move in with me.”

Charles smiled so hard his face ached, and wondered what this feeling was, this _thing_ filling him up.

Wondered how long he could keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't already know this about me, I project MASSIVELY on all my characters! And one of the most important aspects of trust to me is being able to argue with a person - if I can trust someone not to hurt me, I feel like I can defend my points safely. And we all know how important a good debate is to Charles and Erik!


	5. Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven and Charles have a chat on the night of Charles and Erik's housewarming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is super short! The next chapter should be along very soon, though! Also Raven is genderfluid and changes their pronouns often in this fic. Carry on! As you were!

“What did you guys think your power would be, when you were kids?” Darwin asked, licking the peanut butter ice cream off his spoon at their housewarming. “You know, when the whole mutant thing got into the media and anyone could have got magic powers?”

Alex snorted and straightened his legs, leaning back against the sofa. “I wanted to fly,” he said. “Total cliche. I thought if I could fly I’d get away from my shitty neighbourhood, go fight bad guys and be a hero.”

Raven laughed and patted his shoulder. “It was pretty obvious what mine would be,” they said, tugging a lock of black hair off their face-for-the-day. “I figured out I was gender-fluid when I was eight. Dysphoria was the only thing I could think of for so long.”

Erik shrugged next to them. “I never considered it,” he said. Pragmatic as ever. “What about you, Charles?” He turned a lazy smirk to him. “What did you wish for if not the ability to know it all?”

Charles rolled his eyes and smacked Erik’s thigh, smiling at the snicker it got out of him. “I don’t know, really,” Charles lied. “I suppose I always wanted to travel in time.”

***

“How much does he know about your family?” Raven asked later that night, long after the others had gone home, long after Erik had retired to bed to leave the siblings to their early morning chat.

“Very little,” Charles admitted.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Memories of sudden movements ending in pain, cruel, unpredictable insults, the almost unbearable tension, the need, even at six, to be perfect, beyond reproach, so they couldn’t find anything to hate.

Something could always be made to be his fault. The sudden onslaught of telepathy taught him how easy it was for them to blame him. How suddenly the mind could turn.

Raven’s cool fingers closed over his, and he jumped. “Sorry,” they said, icy blue eyes wide and sad. “I didn’t mean to remind you.”

Charles shook his head with a half-smile. “There’s nothing to tell, Raven,” he said.

Raven raised their eyebrows. “Really? Did you forget I moved in with you after my powers manifested? You don’t have to lie to me, I was there, I saw--”

He shook his head. “I don’t mean that. It’s just… well, what I went through, it pales in comparison with what Erik’s had to deal with! I know my family was…”

“Fucked up?” Raven suggested. “Abusive? Awful?”

“Well, yes, but honestly, if I wasn’t already a highly strung child, I think I’d have dealt with it so much better than I did.”

“Charles, reading the minds of a few therapists isn’t actually a substitute for being helped with your issues.”

“I’m fine, Raven, really,” he said, taking their hand. “Honestly, Erik doesn’t need to hear about my stupid overreactions to everything.”

“It wasn’t an overreaction,” they said firmly. If Charles ever read their mind, he might be taken aback at the force of their anger on his behalf. As it was, he could blink it away, deny it was possible. 

Raven huffed, frustrated. “Seriously, Charles. You were so terrified of your family that you manifested omega level telepathy at age six and then hid it for months! It doesn’t matter objectively what happened, because subjectively it was bad enough that a tiny child needed to know what his parents were thinking, just to keep him safe! This is not the Misery Olympics, Charles. Whatever Erik experienced was traumatic. What I experienced was traumatic. What the Baseline girl in the year above me experienced was traumatic when she got beaten up outside school.”

Charles turned his head away. Raven sighed and folded his hand between theirs. “The event means nothing. It’s the consequences for you, me, Erik, Alex, Darwin - all of us - that’s what we have to deal with. We can’t explain or logic these consequences away. We have to live with them, and we can help each other with that.”

They leaned over to catch Charles’ eye. “I think Erik would be honoured to help you with yours.”

Charles smiled and pulled Raven in for a hug. It was a lovely thought. It didn’t feel like it was for him, though.


	6. The Silences Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange is happening to Charles' powers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Charles does something cruel to Emma and immediately regrets it and tries to smooth it over. There is A Lot of self-loathing in this chapter, and a lot of anxiety.
> 
> I'm sorry this is late! I'm also desperately sorry I haven't been replying to messages, I appreciate them all SO MUCH!! I've just taken on a LITTLE bit more than I can actually handle oops... This story is already all written, so it's not in danger! I just ran out of time to post yesterday!
> 
> Fun fact: this was the first chapter I wrote of this story! One of the first times I've ever written out of order as well ^_^

Charles first noticed something was wrong when Erik’s arms wrapped snugly around his waist and made him jump. At the spike of adrenaline, the thoughts flowed into his head like a connection switched on - _warm-boyfriend-soft-Charles-_ “Are you OK?”

“Hmm?” Charles reached up with one hand to scratch Erik’s scalp the way he liked it, curls soft between his fingers.

Erik groaned and pressed his head down against Charles’ shoulder, contentment radiating from every pore.

Charles chuckled and forgot about the strange lapse in his powers.

***

It wasn’t the last time. Charles started noticing more and more silences, more stretches of time where Erik’s voice disappeared. He brushed it off at first, until he woke up one night with nothing but silence in his ears.

His heartbeat started rising, panic swelling in his throat. Was he ill? Had someone spiked him with suppressants?

 

“Charles?” Erik’s voice sounded different, and Charles startled as strong warm arms wrapped around his waist. “What’s up?”

He sounded strange because Charles never heard his voice without the thoughts underneath the words, he realised. It made him want to cry, tear at his hair, burrow into Erik’s chest and beg for help.

And then the little voice he thought he’d grown out of whispered _no_. Erik would think he was crazy, he’d push him away, it had only been a matter of time anyway.

And just like that, Erik’s voice came back, a concerned, rising, wakening trail of thoughts, and Charles wanted to weep with relief. “Nothing,” he said, covering Erik’s hand over his belly. “Thought I heard something.”

Erik hummed, his thoughts settling down to _sleep-Charles-come-to-bed-hug_. Charles lay down and tucked himself into Erik’s embrace with a smile. But his eyes stayed open long after Erik’s thoughts muted and muffled with sleep.

***

It was a good thing school was out for the summer, because Charles wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on his lectures. He was hyperaware of every thought around him, focusing in on every mental voice like he’d done when he first developed his powers, a little boy desperate to stay safe.

“I think I’m going deaf,” he laughed to Emma one day, trying to make a joke out of it.

She crossed her legs and sipped at her coffee. “Good thing you’re a telepath, huh?”

Charles chuckled and weighed up his options, deciding whether or not to--

“You couldn’t hear his thoughts?” she gasped.

Charles glared at her. “So much for honour among telepaths,” he said dryly.

She held his gaze and said nothing. Charles looked away first. They both knew there was no such thing. To be a telepath _was_ to be dishonourable, paranoid, a snoop. To have more information than any person in the room, to push and take no matter how loudly you said you wouldn’t. Because it was needed.

“There’s a reason we’re telepaths,” Emma said quietly.

Charles hummed, his anger and fear still buzzing, still betrayed. “Yes,” he said, his cruel streak rising. “How _is_ your daddy these days?” 

Emma raised one eyebrow, unruffled. “Bitch,” she said neutrally, but he saw the string he’d plucked vibrate through her memories. He considered the nightmares that would wake her tonight, and he loathed himself.

He lightly pressed the memories back into her subconsciousness. She’d developed her powers as a teenager. So many more memories, so much more horror before her defences had kicked in. For a moment they sat in silence together, staring out at New York, towers above the sea of humanity around them.

“What are you going to do?” Emma asked at last. “Do you think--”

“It’s not Erik doing it,” Charles said, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t.”

Emma’s eyebrows twitched. They both knew Charles couldn’t dismiss the thought as easily as that.


	7. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' telepathic silences get worse...

The silences didn’t stop. If anything they increased, Erik’s voice in his head turning off and on like a loose connection, and Charles was going out of his mind trying to find out what was wrong with him. He even talked Hank into putting him in an MRI machine.

“Nothing seems to be any different to your baseline readings we took the year before last,” Hank said, scrolling down the false colour images on the screen. “What were you expecting?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing really,” Charles said casually, his fist clenching rhythmically, tucked into his blazer pocket. “I just thought it would be a good idea to get a more up-to-date baseline, I’m under a lot less stress now. No major papers due tomorrow.”

Hank laughed, nodding. “Oh, God, yeah. The amount of coffee we drank! I swear I thought that nervous tic you had with your hand was going to become a permanent fixture. Flexing your fingers like that all the time.”

Charles forced a laugh and took his hand out of his pocket, pressing his palm flat against his thigh.

***

The worst thing was that it only seemed to happen around Erik. Like when Charles was watching Erik talk about work, about the young guy in the arts section who screamed so hard at a jump scare video that he broke three computer monitors and startled Emma into her diamond form. Charles laughed until his stomach hurt watching Erik’s memory of Emma’s disgusted face, and Sean’s horrified babbling as he tried to explain. Erik’s smile was wide, his teeth bared and his eyes crinkled up, a soft, affectionate hum of _love-seeing-him-laugh_ underneath it all.

And then it was gone, so suddenly that Charles felt like he was falling forward, like a foundation had failed and tilted him off-balance. He wanted to look around physically for the missing thoughts and memories.

He was alone in his head, and that thought by itself nearly sent him into the panic that seemed to live one breath away at all times now. But no, he wasn’t. He strained for the soft, distant voices of the people in other apartments, or passing on the streets.

“Charles?” asked Erik, reaching forward for his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Charles shook his head like he was trying to clear water out of his ears, knowing even as he did so that it’d make no difference. Erik’s voice sounded empty without his mental underscoring, the words flat without the thoughts singing underneath. He concentrated hard, pressing his fingers to his temple, the voices in the building growing louder, distorted like they were filtering up through water. But no Erik.

“Charles!” Erik snapped, grabbing his shoulders and nearly shaking him. Charles looked up at him. It felt like he wasn’t really there, not really clutching at his biceps. Could he really be as distressed as his face said? Is that what fear looked like? Charles couldn’t remember without the emotions telling him so.

“What are you doing?” he asked Erik. “It’s only you, you’re the only silent one, what are you _doing?”_

“Charles, you’re scaring me,” said Erik. His eyes were bright, sparkling, almost overflowing, but his voice held no inflection. None of it _meant anything,_ not without the context that meant everything.

“Are you here?” Charles said, his voice high, angry, afraid, his breath coming faster. He gripped Erik’s wrists tight, but what did it mean? His senses could lie, people lie, smiles, promises, love could _lie_. How could he trust anyone without his powers, how could he... “What are you _doing_ to me? Why are you--”

_\--les-Charles-panic-help-him-help-me-ill-afraid-hurt-don’t-hurt-him--_

“Erik?” Charles whimpered, and tears broke free from his eyes, tracking down his slack face as Erik’s thoughts, his _reality_ washed over Charles, filling the spaces that gnawed at him.

Erik was _here_. He was here, and he was terrified because of Charles. “Erik, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

Erik pulled Charles close, wrapping him tight in his arms, his breath shuddering on the exhale. “I was so worried, Charles,” he said, his fingertips sinking into Charles’ hair, scratching his scalp. “Charles, won’t you talk to me, darling, please? You’ve been so on-edge for weeks, and you keep staring like you can’t hear me… what’s going on?”

“I don’t…” Charles sucked in a shuddering breath, overwhelmed by Erik’s fear and worry and _love_ , and Charles had accused him! How _could_ he? “I don’t know,” he said, pressing his face into Erik’s chest.

Erik smelled of their laundry detergent, of garlic and ginger from cooking dinner, of the aftershave Charles had bought him in duty free on the way back from a conference, and most of all, he smelled of the thoughts and feelings Charles could hear with his powers, three dimensional and present and perfect and _there._

Home. He smelled, he sounded, looked and felt like home.

In a horrible way it made sense suddenly, why Charles couldn’t hear him, why Erik’s mind was being taken away, not anyone else’s. Charles didn’t _do_ home. He’d been to boarding school, university, college after college, his flat, Erik’s. He’d called them all home. ‘I’m going home to my dorm.’ ‘I’m going home to college.’ ‘I’m going home to the mansion where I’ll hide from my stepfather and count the days until I can go home to school.’

Home meant nothing. Like friends. Charles called everyone friend, and trusted none of them.

Home wasn’t _for_ Charles. Erik wasn’t for him. Charles pressed closer to Erik, breathed in more of that impossible smell, his tears silently soaking into Erik’s turtleneck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up who thinks Charles might be catastrophising here and may maybe slightly possibly potentially be wrong about the meaning of his silences??


	8. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is exhausted and not making sensible decisions. Raven is at least thinking for all of them!

Charles pushed the huge double doors open, the hinges creaking with disuse. The sun was rising behind him, and hopefully Erik would still be asleep where he’d left him on the sofa in their… in _Erik’s_ apartment.

The mansion smelled of dust and stale air. Charles left the door open as he walked into the foyer, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. He was glad places didn’t hold memories, though it seemed impossible the fear and loneliness, dissatisfaction and despair of his entire family hadn’t soaked into the porous limestone walls. 

The curtains showered him in dust as he tugged them open. He walked through room after room, everything exactly as he and Raven had left it years ago. His stepfather’s office lay in ruins, still, and his feet slipped over a snowfall of paperwork and upholstery and broken wood from the desk he’d taken a crowbar to. The desk he’d bent over for whipping after whipping. 

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” called Raven.

Charles looked up, his eyes wide. “Raven,” he said, smiling. “What are you doing here, darling?” He ran over and lifted his favourite pretend sibling into a tight hug. “What pronouns are you using today?”

“She,” she said, giving him a half-smile and pulling back, her hands on his shoulders. “Charles, what are you doing back here? I was hoping I’d be wrong, but when Erik called me in an absolute panic saying you’d disappeared in the middle of the night, I was pretty damn sure you’d be here. How are you so God-damn extra, Charles?”

“Erik called you?”

“Of course he did,” she sighed, folding her legs under her to sit on the wide stairs leading down to the study. “Who else are you close to?”

“I have plenty of friends, thank you very much,” he smiled, sitting next to her.

“Sure you do. Everyone loves you. But Erik knows that none of them realise there’s an angsty, self-loathing centre under all that gooey sweetness.”

“I am not--”

“Why are you _here_ , Charles? What have you got to gain from being here instead of with a gorgeous man who adores you?”

Charles’ breath stopped, the hard lump in his throat cutting everything off. He stared down at his hands. “He shouldn’t,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound like his own. “He deserves the man he thinks I am, not… all _this_.”

“All what?”

He took a deep, shaky breath. “All the _bullshit_. All my issues and stupid anxieties, and my cowardice. My entire power is about cowardice! I’m so terrified of people that my mutation made me hear everyone’s thoughts, so they couldn’t possibly take me by surprise and hurt me--”

“Because that’s all your family ever _did_ ,” Raven said, a line forming between her brows. “Your dad ignored you, Sharon tore your self-esteem to bits, and Kurt and Cain took pleasure in seeing you hurt and scared. Your mutation gave you what you needed, just like mine gave me shapeshifting when the dysphoria got too bad.”

Charles nodded. “Yes, yes, I know, and it saved my life countless times, but now I’m just… I’m still living like I expect everyone to hurt me. I read everyone’s mind, more than is necessary or… acceptable or whatever. And then… then my powers started disappearing around Erik and it’s just - it felt wrong. I can’t talk to him without hearing his thoughts as well and it’s just not fair, Raven, it’s not-- I’ve finally found someone I love _so much_ , and my powers are telling me I don’t get to have him and it’s _not fair!”_

He pressed his face into his hands, pulling at his hair in grief and fury.

“So,” said Raven, her hand stroking between his shoulder blades. “You read my mind too?”

“What? No, of course not! You asked me not to.” He glared at her, scrubbing the back of his hand across his face.

She examined her fingernails casually. “What about Angel?” she asked. “Didn’t she ask you to stay out of her head, too?”

Charles deflated. “Yes, well… but she’s different.”

“In what way is she different?”

“I don’t trust her like… oh.” Charles stared at Raven. “Do you know, I think you might be the only person in the world I actually trust?”

She smiled rather smugly. “Well, we’ll see. But _could_ you read me now?”

“I don’t want to,” said Charles, frowning at her. “And you don’t want me to, and I’m in no danger--”

“So what you’re saying, then, is that your _power_ trusts me? That your power’s OK with staying out of my head because you trust me? So… it’s silent _because you trust me?”_

Charles blinked at her and Raven rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God, Charles,” she groaned. “You’re _thick_ when you’re sleep deprived! You _trust_ Erik! Your powers trust him, they don’t see him as a threat, so they don’t work around him. Duh!”

She stood up, dusting her skirt off, as Charles stared at her open-mouthed. “I’ll leave you with him, then, shall I?”

The door behind them creaked, and Charles twisted to see Erik peering round, his eyes sad and wide. Charles stared at Raven, a twist of betrayal around the automatic happiness of seeing Erik. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Charles,” said Raven, flicking her hair back. “If he’d been a threat you know your powers would have warned you. And it’s only fair, you’ve known what he thinks of you for almost a year. Now he knows how you feel about him.”

She winked at Erik, kissed Charles’ cheek, and walked out, her heels tapping an echoing call on the hardwood floors.

Erik looked at Charles like he wanted to cry, and Charles turned away, hunching his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said to his own clasped hands.

Erik sat next to him, and Charles felt an almost physical pull to lean over, press his face to Erik’s shoulder - and to sink his thoughts into Erik’s mind, like fingers through cool beads.

“Did you think I would reject you? If you told me?” Erik asked at last, and the pain was obvious in his voice even without the hum of his emotions.

Charles winced. “I don’t know… I don’t know that I was thinking straight at all. I just…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Your mind is so… I’m _greedy_ for it, Erik. It feels like something I’ve never had before and to… to have it taken away was--” He swallowed his words, dramatic and self-pitying as they were, in the face of the true loss and torture Erik had experienced.

Erik’s fingers slipped between his own, hands clasping tight when Charles jumped. He smiled up at Erik’s beautiful, compassionate eyes. “It feels like no less than I deserve,” Charles admitted, shrugging, apologising for he didn’t know what. “It’s never been fair, has it? It’s never fair with me - I can hear everything, all your thoughts and emotions, and you just have to trust me. How can I ask for that? From anyone, but most of all you.”

Erik wrapped him up in a tight hug with no warning, and Charles clung to him, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clenched in Erik’s t-shirt. “Charles,” he said, that dear voice deep and rich by his ear. “Please, please ask it of me, I can’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t care if it’s uneven, you being able to hear my thoughts. I just want you. You’re… you’re _home_ to me, and I’ve not had that since my parents were taken away. I want you in my mind - in my life - all the ways I can.”

Charles clutched at Erik’s body, pulling him closer, tears falling and soaking into Erik’s shirt where he pressed his face, and realised that’s what Erik’s mind had always been to him - a true home for his soul, a refuge.

And with an audible pop, Erik’s thoughts and emotions returned to him in a wave, curling around their embrace as soft as a blanket, and Charles sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments.... oh, comments, you wonderful people, I love everyone, and I will answer every single comment, but I'm a disaster human, and still have to write an A level biology course before the end of July! My inbox is shameful, and if you've been kind enough to leave a comment in the last 20 days or so, I swear I love you and appreciate every word and I WILL REPLY SOON I'M SORRY!


	9. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik brings Charles home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I was going to write smut for this chapter but Erik and Charles had something more important to do and I'm glad they convinced me otherwise. This is nothing but incredibly soppy fluff! I hope you like it!

Charles leaned on Erik as they arrived home - _home_ , the only true one he’d ever had, that smelled and felt and was full of Erik. Rather than moving into the apartment, Erik clicked the door shut behind them and then just turned to wrap his arms around Charles, pressing his nose to Charles’ head and breathing in, a hum of _blessed-home-love_ wrapping around the two of them. Charles’ fingers tightened in Erik’s shirt and he slumped so that his face nuzzled into Erik’s chest.

“Can you hear me, Charles,” Erik said softly, his voice rumbling through his chest and into Charles’ ear. He knew he wasn’t talking about that voice.

“Yes,” Charles said, pressing closer.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Erik asked. “You’re not still worried about whether it’s fair for you to hear me when I can’t hear you?”

Charles sighed. “It is unfair. And I _do_ trust you, Erik, I trust you and Raven beyond anything I ever thought possible. I can see that now.”

“After all, it’s not often someone subconsciously cancels their own mutation just to prove their trust, is it?” Erik said, and Charles could hear the smug smile in his voice, hear it in his thoughts. He smirked back at him. “But you don’t need to worry about it any more, OK? I don’t _want_ you to cancel your mutation for me.”

“I don’t want to lose this either,” Charles said. “I love the way your mind feels, I love having you right here with me. I love seeing your thoughts, hearing your commentary on the things we’re both seeing that you would never say out loud. I just… I do wish I could give you something like that.”

Erik was silent for a moment, and Charles pulled back as he felt Erik’s rising apprehension. “What?” Charles said. “What is it?”

Erik looked away and bit his lip. “I don’t want you to be freaked out by it,” he said.

Charles put his head on one side and stroked through Erik’s hair. He wanted to say _of course, anything,_ but Erik had earned a little more honesty than that. “I’ll listen,” he said. “I can’t promise I’ll agree to whatever it is, but I’m prepared now. Try me.”

Erik couldn’t look at him straight, just glancing at him out of the corner of the eye. Slowly, like something rising from the depths of the ocean, Charles saw himself, but not like any mirror could show him. Not like anyone else saw him. Through Erik’s senses he felt the metal in the room, the metal on Charles’ own body, his watch, his belt buckle - and then a silver chain around his neck, fine links resting against his collarbones. 

“It’s not… it’s not a possessive thing. Not really,” Erik said quickly, still only watching Charles sideways. “It’s… I’d want to make it and then… then feel your skin warming it, feel your pulse under the links. I think… I don’t know, I’ve never tried it, but I think I could feel your heartbeat. I imagine I could.”

The words were coloured with _embarrassed-idiot-creepy-suggestion-why-did-you-tell-him_ and Charles had to grab his arm to stop him. “You can… you can make something like that?”

Erik shrugged and nodded.

“Can you make it without a clasp?” Charles asked softly, taking a step closer. He could feel his heart beat faster, and the thought that he could give that to Erik, give a little signal back to him, felt almost too good to be true. “Can you make it so only you could remove it?”

Erik blinked, hope and arousal and fear of rejection rising in him. “You want that?”

Charles nodded. “I want to give you my heart,” he said and laughed. “God, that’s so corny, but… I want to. It’s yours.”

Erik bent his head to kiss him, cupping his jaw in one hand, the other linking their fingers together. He pulled away and tugged on his hand gently, walking him backwards to their bedroom, drawing a box of cufflinks and jewellery he never wore out of one of his drawers. “Are you sure you’re OK with this?” he asked. “It’s not… creepy, is it?”

Charles leaned up to kiss him again, the soft whispers of Erik’s thoughts under his physical presence, propping him up, _don’t-want-to-scare-him-off-love-him-I-wish-I-wish._

“Can I try something?” Charles asked, taking a deep breath. “I know you heard what I said to Raven but… I don’t want you to doubt me--”

“I don’t,” Erik said quickly. “I trust you.”

Charles nodded and bit his lip. “I know, but that’s… I want to show that… that I trust you too. Completely. And I’m not just doing this because I think it’ll make you happy - I want you to _know_ that. But… I’m afraid.”

Erik stroked his fingers through his hair. “What are you afraid of, _liebchen?”_

“That… that you’ll see in my mind and you won’t like what you see,” Charles said in one quick breath. He closed his eyes. “It’s so selfish, I can see anyone else’s mind. I think I can open mine up to you, so you know how my power works too, but…”

“Like when you watch me use my power from inside my mind?” Erik said, smiling softly, and Charles could hear a very soft _I-want-that_ under the words, even though Erik was trying not to push for it.

He nodded, took a deep breath and touched his forehead to Erik’s, and _bloomed_ , opened his mind and heart and took Erik in.

He could hear Erik gasp, a strange echoing sound, and a cool, copper tasting sensation ran through his mind, his memories. He shivered under it. Part of him wanted to panic and run from it, but he took a deep breath and imagined an atrium, imagined him and Erik there.

“Is this your mind?” Erik asked, staring around in wonder.

Charles nodded. “A part of it. The working centre, I suppose.”

Erik turned in a circle, staring up at the space disappearing above them, memories flickering in the air around them. Charles reached out his hand to brush a finger through the sparkling strands of Erik’s metal sense as it spread tendrils through his mind. The shimmering, twisting beams caressed his hands, and he smiled, preferring to focus on the wonder of Erik’s mutation than whatever embarrassing memories Erik was digging up.

Erik’s hand came up to stroke Charles’ cheek. “There’s nothing embarrassing about your mind,” he said, those blue-grey eyes holding Charles’ with the kind of absolute conviction Charles had never felt.

Charles smiled ruefully. “You can tell what I’m thinking, of course you can,” he laughed. “I’m not used to being on this side of the fence.”

“Is this what it’s always like for you?” Erik asked, a note of concern creeping in. “It’s… incredible, but overwhelming as well.”

Charles shook his head and concentrated. The internal landscape turned into something simpler, the vast spaces open to his memories and thoughts closed off behind doors and walls. “It’s more like this, I suppose,” he said. “I do try not to pry, but…” He ducked his head. He could hear his own admission, his own guilty secret whispering behind the walls, _I-look-more-than-I-should-I-don’t-trust-anyone-I-look-deeper-than-I-say._

He looked up at Erik again, and even after all this, there was a tiny whispering part of him saying _he’ll-hate-you-he’ll-be-disgusted._

Erik looked distraught. “Not disgusted,” he said. “And I couldn’t hate you. God, Charles… you’ve been fighting with this fear for so long, I didn’t… I knew your arrogance was all a mask, but I didn’t know you were afraid of me hating you.” He wrapped his arms tight around Charles, and Charles clung to him, almost hysterical with relief and _God_ , this is what it felt like. To be accepted for everything. To be known.

To trust someone.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, wrapped up in each other in his own mind, nothing off limits to Erik the way nothing was ever off limits to Charles, barring his own morals. At last he pulled back a little, just far enough to meet Erik’s gaze. “Shall we go back?” he asked, kissing Erik’s jawline. “Our bodies will be getting stiff, standing still like this out in the real world.”

Erik laughed and kissed his temple. “And I’ve got something to make for you,” he said. “Now that I know you really like the idea, not just for my sake.”

They slipped back out of Charles’ mind, and it felt strange without Erik deeply rooted in his soul, knowing his every thought. But of course, Erik had taken root in his heart long ago, and Charles hoped they’d be growing strong there together for a while.

Erik took a moment to kiss Charles’ face; his eyes, his nose, his lips, his jaw. A hush fell over them, all of Charles’ mind and power completely focused on Erik’s every movement. Erik’s long fingers unbuttoned Charles’ shirt, just a couple of buttons down, baring his collarbones, stroking along the ridges of them. 

Charles caught the flare of Erik’s power before he even saw the bits of jewellery rise into the air, cufflinks and rings and bits and pieces orbiting Charles’ neck at a gesture. He held still, his jaw angled up so Erik could see. The metal broke down to pieces, a tiny asteroid belt spinning around him, sparkling in the light from the city that filtered through the curtains. 

They orbited closer, so close that he could no longer see them, but now they brushed the hair at the nape of his neck, now they stroked over his skin, now he could feel them twisting, hear the tiny links sliding into place around each other, and knew they’d be seamless, like no other chain in the world. Erik’s eyes narrowed, a frown forming between his eyes as his hands made small gestures and his power swirled around Charles.

At last he stepped back, and Charles realised his heart was pounding with the second-hand exhilaration of Erik stretching his metal-sense, wielding absolute control over every atom, demanding its good behaviour. He could feel the chain humming over his skin, warm to the touch.

“I can hear it,” whispered Erik. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Charles brought his hand up to touch the chain, and smiled.


	10. Epilogue: Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fluffy chapter to round it off!

“It’s different with you,” Charles said to Raven as they dangled their bare legs off the wall, watching friends and colleagues throw a frisbee around the garden. “I don’t hear your mind at all because I know that’s what you prefer. I do hear Erik’s mind because that’s what we both prefer.”

He smiled as his eyes landed on Erik, who was making such an effort to act like he was enjoying the game. “It’s not that I hear him because I don’t trust him,” Charles said. “I know that now.”

“Good,” Raven laughed, his voice for today deep and rough. “Because it’s obvious to literally everyone else in the world that you two are gone for each other.” He shook his head fondly and covered Charles’ hand with one of his own. “You have a talent for overthinking things.”

Charles rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. His powers still fluctuated around Erik, along with his self-esteem, and he sometimes found himself wondering how much more of his bullshit Erik could take before giving up on him.

But today was a sunny day, the wind brisk and the sky blue, and Charles smiled across the field at the man he loved.

“Bored, are we?” he asked in Erik’s head.

“Desperately,” Erik replied dryly. “Remind me why I’m playing this utterly ridiculous game and you aren’t?”

“Because they’re your work colleagues and they don’t want to incite your wrath by hitting me with a stray frisbee.” Charles sent the memory of Sean’s thoughts directly to Erik and was rewarded with the warm tang of Erik’s amusement.

“You _are_ very accident prone, Charles.”

“Excuse you, I’ll have you know I’m very athletic.”

“I’m sure the Oxford rowing team will provide you with many transferable skills here.”

Charles narrowed his eyes and made Erik believe he was naked. But after an initial flinch to cover himself, Erik just rolled his eyes and turned to face Charles face on.

Ah. Well, that trick didn’t work the way he’d planned, but it had its advantages.

Charles felt the links of the silver chain around his neck warm in affectionate pulses as he let go of Erik’s illusion. He stroked the smooth metal and smiled, remembering the feeling of Erik’s power humming around his throat. It was his own kind of surrender. An act of trust that felt like euphoria, giving Erik his heartbeat, his breath, his skin warming the metal.

Erik threw the frisbee to Darwin with well-concealed boredom. Charles smiled, and suddenly they were standing together in the meadow he’d first made on that awful evening months ago. Inside his own mind he looked up at Erik, his hands tucked into his pockets. “I thought you might like a change of scenery,” he said.

Erik smiled down at him. “Am I standing in the garden with blank eyes and drool running down my chin?” 

Charles held out his hand and projected the view of Erik’s body, still catching and throwing automatically. “It’s just your higher brain functions here with me, don’t worry.”

Erik smirked and beckoned, and Charles yelped as he was lifted off his feet and floated up to a kiss. “If this is all in our heads, I figured I could imagine you in some steel-toed boots,” Erik said, his voice rumbling deep against Charles’ chest.

Charles looped his arms over Erik’s shoulders and kissed him back, still walking on air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support and your lovely kind comments! I've so enjoyed writing for Fandom Trumps Hate again, here's to more in the years to come!

**Author's Note:**

> I also write a sort-of-regular blog about my original novels on [Wordpress](https://wordpress.com/view/lynhemphillauthor.wordpress.com), and I talk all sorts of bollocks on Tumblr as [Gold-From-Straw](https://gold-from-straw.tumblr.com/) too! Come say hi if you like!


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